


Whiskey Sour

by Keeper of Tales (CodenameLoki)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dorks, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Prompt Fic, ambrollins - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodenameLoki/pseuds/Keeper%20of%20Tales
Summary: Prompt: A lives in an apartment and as A is taking the trash out, A notices B who is kneeling outside a door and trying to pick the lock. A can’t remember if they’ve seen B around before, so they can’t be sure if B forgot their keys or if B is a burglar. A hesitantly says, “If you’re locked out, you could call the super.”





	1. Chapter 1

For a split-second, Seth thought the Dumpster was about to explode. 

He'd just hefted his bulging trash bag into the receptacle, and become aware of a persistent… not exactly a ticking, he realized, feeling foolish about his quick reverse-jog, having backpedalled several steps. More of a clinking sound.

He peeped around the Dumpster, following the noise to its source. It was apartment 1B; there was a man crouched outside the door, fiddling with the knob. He didn't look familiar, but then, Seth didn't know all the other tenants either. Maybe the guy had forgotten his keys.

 _Or he's a burglar_ , Seth thought. As far as he knew, both scenarios were equally plausible. He hovered next to the trash, debating with himself, as was the Rollins way. On the one hand, he could remind the guy that the super could let him in. On the other, he could wind up interrupting a daring broad-daylight robbery and get stabbed to death and thrown in the very Dumpster he was standing next to.

He finally decided that it was unlikely that anyone would be so stupid as to stage a heist at high noon- or 2pm, at the case may be- on a Wednesday afternoon. Seth walked over to the guy, still hunched in front of the door, white T-shirt pulled up enough to expose a strip of skin above his jeans. Seth tried not to notice how well the jeans were filled out, and cleared his throat.

"Uh, hi. You know the super can let you in, if you forgot your keys, right?"

The guy grunted and looked up, his eyes a startling blue. "I'm not locked out."

"You're uh… you don't live here?"

"I live in 3C," the guy replied, wiping the back of his wrist across his forehead, unsticking a reddish-brown curl and resumed twiddling at the lock. There was a black leather case on the concrete patio in front of him, a selection of metal rods clearly visible.

 _Who the fuck just owns lockpicks?_ Seth wondered. He shuffled from foot to foot, considering his next move. The guy was definitely breaking in, and Seth wondered briefly if he could be arrested as an accomplice to breaking and entering if anyone were to call the police right now. "So… you burglarize your neighbors often, then?"

"Burglarize?" Those eyes met his again, accompanied by an amused snort. "I'm not gonna take anything. Well, nothing that don't already belong to me." He gave Seth a wry half-smile, and Seth realized the guy was enjoying this. "My cat got out."

"Your… your cat?"

"Yep. He bailed out over the balcony, the little shit."  
"So you're breaking and entering to rescue your cat?" Seth couldn't believe this was really happening; he was just trying to get rid of his trash before it started stinking up his kitchen. "You can't just, I don't know, wait for these people to get home?"

"Nope." Blue Eyes rattled the knob again and swore. He withdrew one of his picks and selected another. "Can't let the super find out. She told me the last time, if she found out my cat was loose again, she'd evict us."

"You can't just keep him inside?" Seth was intrigued, now. He leaned up against the sandstone fascia next to the door, legs crossed at the ankles, and looked down at Blue Eyes. "Cats do okay inside-only, you know."

"I know," the guy grumbled. He shot Seth a withering glance. "You don't understand. _He can open doors_."

"...how the hell can he open _doors_? He doesn't have thumbs, does he?" Of _course_ Seth managed to wander up on the only guy in the complex who owned both lockpicks and a cat who could open doors.

"No. He's a little shit, like I said. And before you ask, yes, he can open windows too. Pops the latch and pushes the screen out. Ahah! There we go!" Blue Eyes grinned at him as the doorknob gave a resounding _click_. He got to his feet and pushed the door open, stepping in. "Okay Whiskey, where are ya? I know you're in here."

Seth poked his head in- hopefully, it only counted if you stepped into a place that had been broached in such a felonious manner- and scanned the dim room. "He's under that table, there. Assuming Whiskey is an orange cat with one white front paw."

"Yeah, that's him. Little fuck- c'mere you." 

Seth heard an irritated _mrrp_ as he was scruffed and lifted by his owner, who held the cat up to eye level for a scolding. Seth winced, until he saw Blue Eyes gather the cat's haunches up in his other hand.

"Little shitlord. You're gonna get us evicted, y'know that? Or get me arrested. This is the third time, Whiskey. Three times, I've had to break in after you."

The cat was purring as they exited the apartment, tucked up under his owner's arm. Blue Eyes locked the door after them, picked up his lockpicks, and looked over at Seth. "Uh, could you maybe not mention this?"

"The cat getting out, or you breaking in?"

"Ehhn, both is good? I'm Dean, by the way." Dean gestured with his cat. "This is Whiskey."

"I'm Seth. Maybe rename him to Houdini?"

"I really don't want to tempt fate more than necessary," Dean replied.

"You should watch that Cat From Hell show." Seth paused on the third floor landing. "Maybe get some tips to keep him in."

"I don't have cable," Dean informed him. "I may nail all the exits shut though."

"Pretty sure that's a fire hazard. Also, it would take a long time to break in if you died."

"We just met and you're already thinking about my death?" Dean barked a laugh and shifted his cat in his arms. Whiskey squirmed, and Dean gave up, dropping him to the landing. "You an undertaker or something?"

"Personal trainer," Seth replied, offering a half-shrug. 

Dean gave him a long, discerning look, taking in the taut belly and powerful arms. "Shocking."

Seth laughed, pushing his hair out of his face, fighting a blush at the once-over. Dean apparently wasn't the subtle type. "Fitness is kind of my thing."

"Never would have guessed. I'm a bartender, m'self."

"Astonishing." Seth could be as ironic as anyone, when he wanted to.

"I know, right?" Dean nodded at Whiskey. "You'd almost think I liked alcohol or something."

"I bet I can guess your favourite," Seth deadpanned.

"You could _try_." Dean scratched his fingers through his curls. "Speaking of drinks, you wanna come in for one?"

Seth contemplated briefly. Dean might be a little more versed in illegal activities than was comfortable, but he was funny, and interesting. Besides, it wasn't like he had anything much planned for the rest of the day, and he always did have a weakness for blue eyes and guys who liked animals. 

"Sure."


	2. Chapter 2

This was the precise reason Seth kept a hatchet next to his bed. He reached down and drew it out from the gap beneath the bed and the floor, and slid gingerly out from between the covers.

Hatchet held high, maybe trembling a little in a white-knuckled grasp, he made his way past the bathroom and toward the shadowy kitchen, barely lit by the parking lot arc-sodiums. Something was moving in there, and in defiance of all horror movie logic, Seth called out.

"Alright, who's there? I can hear you."

A thump sounded in response, and Seth crept around the corner, peering into his kitchen in trepidation. The parking lot light gleamed off the blade of his hatchet, and he could barely make anything out, save for the half-open window over the sink, and the absence of Fredrica, his potted aloe plant.

Reaching out, he fumbled along the wall for the light switch, and bathed the kitchen in an eye-squinting fluorescent blaze. Fredrica was upended on the floor, her pot shattered and a spray of dirt fanning across the tile.

There was a cat in his sink. Orange, with one white paw.

 _I don't own a cat_ , was his first thought. Then, _Oh. I know who owns a cat_.

He lowered the hatchet with a relieved sigh. "Whiskey, what are you doing out again?"

Amber eyes regarded him lazily, as he set the hatchet on the counter and reached out. Small soothing sounds, and an ear scratch, before leading in to the chin tickle. He'd learned over the past few weeks what the cat liked. "Does Dean know you're out?" 

He received a purr in response, and sighed. "You woke me up in the middle of the night and killed Fredrica. And now I supposed I have to bring you back home."

"Mrrow," Whiskey agreed, pawing at Seth's wrist. He gathered the cat up, and turned toward the door after casting a sad glance at the remains of his plant.

 

Muffled swearing could be heard through the door, gruff and sleep-muddled. Seth shifted Whiskey under his arm and knocked again, quieter this time.

" _Yeah, calm your fuckin tits!_ " 

The deadbolt shot back and Dean appeared in the crack of the door, hair going every which way and eyes squinting blearily out of an unshaven face. "Seth? Fuck're you doin, man?"

Seth held the cat up in response, and Dean swore again, swinging the door open so Seth could come in. "Where'd you find him?"

"In my sink, actually. I left the kitchen window open, and he decided to visit. Assassinated my plant, too, by the way." Seth gave Whiskey a last ear scritch and bent to set him on the floor, unhooking a claw from the collar of his shirt.

"Oh. Shit.Uh, I'll get you a new plant?"

"Fredrica cannot be replaced."

Dean blinked. "You named your plant? No, fuck that. You named your plant _Fredrica_?"

" _You named your plant Fredrica?_ " Seth mimicked, mockingly. Dean snorted, leaning up against the counter of his galley kitchen, arms folded across his bare chest. Seth averted his eyes from the trail of hair vanishing into Dean's pajama pants. He was suddenly very conscious that he was only wearing a T-shirt and boxer shorts. Hadn't even put shoes on, for fuck's sake.

"All right, you want a fish or somethin?"

"Nah, don't worry about it." Seth shoved his hair behind his ear and smothered a yawn behind his hand.

"You want some coffee, or?"

"I'd never get back to sleep," Seth protested. "What time is it, anyway?" He'd been in Dean's place several times, but had never actually had cause to look for a clock before now. He concluded that there wasn't one. The microwave was reading a steady 00:00, which was monumentally unhelpful.

Dean followed his gaze. "Yeah, I never reset shit. Power blinks out too often."

Seth always reset all his clocks, but he refrained from stating as much. "I don't have my phone."

"I looked when I got up; it's just after four." Dean scraped a hand over his face. "So I've had like two hours of fuckin sleep." He glared down at Whiskey, who was headbutting his shin. "Thanks, ya little puke."

"Just get home?" Seth asked, before mentally kicking himself; it was the middle of the night, they'd both been rudely jolted from sleep, and he was making small talk. 

"Worked the evening shift; got home shortly before one. The cat was in when I went to bed. I know, I checked. He was on the back of the couch, I swear."

"You don't have to assure me. I'm not gonna tattle."

Dean shot him a grateful smile. "Thanks. And thanks for bringing him back." He followed Seth to the door, pulling it open for him. "Sorry about your plant." 

"No worries. I'll clean her up, see if I can save her. She needed to be repotted anyway." 

Because of course Dean would give a shit about Seth's horticultural pursuits. Seth groaned as the door shut behind him and started toward the stairs. Definitely time to go back to bed.  
  
Except that he was in the habit of thumbing the button to lock the door on his way out. And he'd neglected to grab his keys. Several long seconds of futile rattling had proved that yes, he was locked out. At four am. In his underwear. He pressed his forehead against the unyielding painted wood and let out a resigned sigh.

  
  


"Well. Shit." 

Now he could understand why Dean owned lockpicks. 

He contemplated going downstairs and perhaps shimmying up over his balcony, but discarded the idea almost at once. With his luck, he'd fall off the fourth story and die ingloriously, splatted across the parking lot to be found by his neighbours when the sun rose.  
  
"What the fuck?" Dean squinted at his phone in the dimness of his bedroom. Whiskey was curled up on the small of his back, so it couldn't be Seth returning him _again_. He rolled over and sat up with a growl, dislodging his cat as he climbed out of bed for the second time that night.

He opened the door to see Seth standing there, arms folded across his chest, balancing with one foot on top of the other. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen someone look embarrassed and cold at the same time. "Yeah?"

"I, uh… I kinda locked myself out," Seth mumbled, cupping his elbows in his palms. "I don't really want to get Cindy out of bed- she's a dragon before she's had coffee- so I was wondering if I could maybe crash here for the night? Or what's left of it."

"Yeah, c'mon in. Again."

"I'm really sorry, I just always lock the knob when I leave, but normally I have, y'know.... pants. With pockets." Seth followed Dean back into the apartment he'd left not a half hour before. "I'll leave as soon as I can get hold of Cindy, I promise. Although-" he hesitated. "I guess I'd have to borrow your phone too. Mine's sitting on my nightstand."

"You're such a fuckup," Dean told him, but he was smiling fondly. 

"I'd kind of figured that out," was the dry response as Seth moved toward the couch. Dean reached out a hand and grabbed his elbow, shaking his head.

"Nah man, you don't wanna sleep there. Trust me, I need a new couch. This way."

Seth stared at him, realization dawning. "You- you want me to sleep with you?"

Dean cocked his head. "I mean, if you're okay with that. The couch is _really_ uncomfortable to sleep on. But I can grab you a blanket, if you want."

"No, I mean, yeah. Yeah, that's okay. If it's okay with you."

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't have offered." Dean pushed open his bedroom door and motioned for Seth to follow him. "No funny business, I promise." He shuffled the cat off a pillow and pushed the covers back. "Normally I'd say 'unless you're into that' but I am _super_ fuckin tired, and my game is all kinds of off."

Seth let out a nervous chuckle and slid between the sheets, curling up next to Dean's lean form. They lay in silence for a few minutes before Seth finally admitted what he'd been thinking for weeks. "Normally I might take you up on it, but I just want sleep."

"Yeah?" Seth wondered if that actually was a hopeful tone in Dean's rough-gravel voice.

"Yeah. I like your cat. And you. So-"

Dean rolled onto his side, moving so that he was closer, and Seth could see him smiling in the faint light from the closed curtains. He shifted a hand out from under the covers and laid it lightly on the side of Seth's face, his thumb stroking Seth's beard. 

"That'd be cool. If you're sure." 

Seth pressed his own hand over Dean's and smiled back.

"I'm sure."

"Kinda glad my cat got out now,' Dean murmured, blinking slowly as sleep crept on him.

"Kinda glad I forgot my keys," Seth admitted. 

He was just drifting off, Dean's raspy breathing and Whiskey's grunting purrs mingling in his ears, when sudden realization hit him. He half-sat up, jostling the arm Dean had draped across his hip and eliciting a grunt from the other man.

"Shit, Fredrica!"


End file.
